


(Another) Much Needed Talk

by lumailia



Series: Journey to Atlas [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Brief mention of Blacksun, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Volume 5, Post-Volume 5 (RWBY), Weiss also has a crush, Weiss and Yang Hug It Out (In a Gay Way), Yang has a crush, first in a series, some symbolic business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumailia/pseuds/lumailia
Summary: Yang and Weiss have a lot to talk about.(The first of a post Volume 5 drabble series entitled Journey to Atlas.)





	(Another) Much Needed Talk

Nearly a day after she first held it, Yang can still feel the burning weight of the Relic in her hand, moving through her arm like a flame down a candlewick. She’s considered asking Qrow about it, if the Relic could somehow imprint on her, but he’s been in the infirmary since this morning to look after Oscar. Even if he were around, there was no guarantee he would answer her. Her Uncle is, if anything, a man of many secrets.

_It doesn’t matter,_ she tells herself _._ The Relic was never hers—it’s Ozpin’s now; and for as long as her mother is still alive, it will belong to her, too. She wonders if that’s the reason the fire lingers.

Yang knows how to be angry. With her semblance, the tempest her father calls a ‘magic temper-tantrum’, she’s made an art of it.  But the anger she felt as she stood before her mother was not the familiar explosion she’s used to. Raven made her anger cold and bright and sharp, something more like a weapon. Something that could be held. Controlled.

She curls her hand into a fist, and one by one, unfurls her fingers.

Her eyes travel the room. Until they can find passage to Atlas, their little flock—which may not be so little anymore, now that Blake, Sun, and the chameleon girl, Ilia, have joined them—has taken up residence in the Haven mess hall. Jaune, Ren, and Nora have commandeered a round table for a card game, and given she’s halfway out of her chair, Nora seems to be winning.  Blake and Ilia are talking, cups of tea perched between their palms. Sun is still on his afternoon nap, Ruby is with Qrow in the infirmary, and Weiss—

—Weiss is missing.

Yang rises to her feet and moves for the double doors on the inner wall of the dining room. If Weiss isn’t out in the hall, she has to be just outside, maybe in the courtyard. A familiar panic grips her chest and squeezes. Weiss wouldn’t leave them. She called them her family—something Blake never did. She wouldn’t leave.

Another realization runs through Yang, far colder than the first. Their next destination is Atlas. Weiss’s home. The country her father practically runs on his own with his business.

Yang walks faster.

“Hey, where are you going?” a voice calls after her. Blake.

“Be back in a minute,” Yang responds. She hears her name in something Blake says to Ilia, but she doesn’t bother to ponder what. They’ve still barely spoken since their reunion, and right now, Yang has a far more pressing concern than finding the right words for Blake.

With the school closed for so long, the halls outside the dining room are dark, save for the thin bands of emergency lights running in blue lines along the floor. Yang follows them around corners, down ramps, through long, empty hallways. She calls for Weiss at every turn, but no one answers.

Finally, she comes to another set of double doors made of the same translucent glass as the ones in the cafeteria. Yang reaches for the door handle, but pauses as her fingers wrap around the metal. _Would Weiss have really come this far? And if I keep going, how long will it be before I find my way back?_

Blue light blazes across the glass. Pulse jumping, Yang turns the handle and opens the door.

Weiss stands at the center of what appears to be a practice gym, her sword pointed like a conductor’s wand into the heart of a summoning circle. Even at this distance, Yang can see the crease in her brow as she tries to bring up the body of a creature, a ghostly form with barbed tentacles and a bobbing, incomplete head.

The circle goes dark, and the creature disappears. Weiss falls to her knees as a silhouette, something bright now a shadow against the sunset glaring through the windows.

“Weiss? Are you okay?” Yang asks, though she doesn’t move. She’s not sure Weiss will even want her here, if she’s been training.

Weiss turns slowly in Yang’s direction, defeat smeared across her face. “Yang? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Yang says. She starts across the room, and to her relief, Weiss does nothing to stop her. “I was doing a headcount and noticed you were gone.”

“Oh.  Well, I was just bored in there. Figured I’d make myself useful somehow. I’m sure your uncle wants us to keep our skills up,” Weiss replies, glancing down at her sword now set before her knees.

“I think Qrow wants us to rest, Weiss,” Yang says. She scoots closer and places her hand on Weiss’s shoulder. “Especially you. I mean, you were just…”

“I know,” Weiss snaps. Yang doesn’t miss the way she covers the hole in her dress, runnels of dried blood peeking between her fingers. “That doesn’t mean I can just stop fighting, though. If Ozpin is really sending all of us to Atlas, then I have to be ready. No matter what.”  

“But you can’t force it, either,” Yang says. “Besides, the journey to Atlas will only take a few days. I don’t think you’re going to lose your touch.”

“When do we leave?” Weiss asks. Her voice wavers, and Yang takes it as a cue to give her shoulder another squeeze.

“By tomorrow, if all goes according to plan. Qrow said he has Ironwood pulling some strings to get us an airship.”

Weiss scoffs. “Again? I’m starting to think Ironwood doesn’t have enough hands to hold all those strings he pulls.”

That draws a laugh out of Yang. Waving her stub, she adds, “Well, he’s sure got more than me.”

Weiss finally looks up, pale eyes wide with a mix of shock and disgust. Yang laughs even harder.

“What?” Weiss exclaims. “Yang, that’s not something to joke about! And where is your arm, anyway? Didn’t someone recover it?”

“Blake got it for me, yeah,” Yang says, lowering her arm. “But it’s been damaged. Since Ironwood gave me the arm, we figure it’ll be easy for him to find someone to fix it rather than try to do anything to it ourselves. Now _that_ would be a hot mess.”

Weiss’s features soften, her scowl melting into a solemn half-smile. “Have you talked to her yet? Blake?”

Yang sighs. “Not about anything serious, yet.” Her hand falls from Weiss’s shoulder, and now she’s the one staring at her knees. “I think we’re still trying to find the right words.”

          “You’re happy she’s back, right?”

          Weiss doesn’t miss Yang’s body tensing up before she began speaking. “Of course I am. It’s just…she abandoned me when I needed her more than anyone. I know her mission was important, and I’m glad Sun was there so she didn’t have to be alone, but for a long time, I  _ was. _ Ruby was gone, my Dad was so focused on training; all I wanted was to talk to the one person who saw it all happen. But at that point, I didn’t even know if I would ever see her again.” Yang pauses, hand drifting to grip her half-missing arm.  “She’s here now, though. And you’re right. That means we have to talk.”

“Listen, I know I’m not the best at giving advice, especially for something like this, but if you ever need it, I’m here. As far as I know, I’m not going anywhere that’s not with my team.”

Yang’s lips twitch into a smile, but at the backs of her eyes, she senses the first hot pricks of tears. “Weiss, can I tell you something you stupid?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking. Usually people say stupid things _without_ my permission.”

With her laughter, Yang’s first tears fall, and she wipes them with her collar before Weiss can see them.

“I came looking for you because I was scared,” she confesses. “When I looked around the dining room and didn’t see you, I was so afraid that you’d taken off like Blake had, like so many people in my life have. It’s not that I wouldn’t have understood why—I know it won’t be easy for you to go back to Atlas, not after running away from home and all that. I know facing your father probably sounds like a nightmare at this point, but we’ve gotten closer lately and I knew I couldn’t handle losing you, too.”

For a moment, Weiss says nothing, and Yang feels dread creep into her gut. But then there’s a soft hand closing over hers, and the dread dissolves into warmth.

“Don’t worry, Yang,” Weiss says, voice just a sliver above a whisper. “I’m all done with running.”

Her eyes are clouded with a fresh flood of tears, but Yang regards her anyway. Amber sunlight lays itself across Weiss’s face, pulling shadows into the contours of her cheeks and making silver flames of her eyes. She smiles—a soft, tight-lipped smile that starts a funny feeling in Yang’s knees—and adds, “When I said I was here for you, I meant it.”

The warmth in Yang’s core spreads up her neck, bringing a rush of pink to her cheeks. Weiss is _beautiful_. Not that Yang didn’t see it before. As a girl who’s always liked other girls, it was the first thing she ever noticed about her. But here, with no spectators but the sun burning through the windows, Weiss’s beauty belongs to someone real. Not some untouchable ice queen, not the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, but a kind, strong, resilient girl whose hand happens to fit perfectly in Yang’s. Whose hand can always fall there, if that’s what she wants.

Weiss’s face shifts, brows drawing together, and Yang wonders if she’s done something wrong, if she’s holding on too tightly. Weiss lets go of her hand, which seems to be an answer, until Weiss lunges forward and wraps Yang in her arms.      

Yang lets out a gasp. Weiss buries her face in the crook of Yang’s neck, nose brushing her skin, and her blush flares into a fever. Without another thought, she brings up her hand to knot her fingers in Weiss’s hair. Weiss only grabs on tighter.

“I’m here for you too, Weiss,” Yang exhales. “Whenever you need me.”

Weiss pulls away, but only far enough to look Yang in the eye. New tears shine on her cheeks. “I’m scared, Yang,” she says. “I’m scared to go back to Atlas, to face my father, to deal with whatever might come after that. But I can’t run away from those things. I have to run towards them. That’s what Huntresses do, right? We face the danger head-on. Even if it’s the thing that terrifies us the most.”

“That’s right,” Yang says, her hand falling to Weiss’s shoulder. “Head-on.”

“Just like you did with Raven.”

A flash of pride widens Yang’s smile. “Yeah, just like that.”

Weiss looks out to the sunset, leaving Yang to admire the way the light falls along her profile, catching on the jewels in her earrings. “Yang, can I say something stupid now?”

Yang’s pulse stutters. _Keep it cool._ “You have my permission,” she says, hoping the lilt in her voice doesn’t give away her sudden rush of nerves.

“You really inspire me, Yang,” Weiss blurts. “I mean, everyone in Team RWBY does, but especially you. When I first got to Beacon, you and Pyrrha were the ones who made me realize there was more to being a Huntress than just controlling your semblance and fighting Grimm. It meant being kind, and earnest. Looking out for others. You all made me look outside myself for once. I…I just want to thank you for that.”

“Weiss, look at me.”

She does.

“I am so happy you think that about me,” Yang starts, “but a lot of that came from you, too. You _are_ a good Huntress, Weiss. And now that Team RWBY is back together again, we’re going to be stronger than ever and go kick Salem’s ass. I believe it.”

“Me too.” She unwinds her arms from Yang’s body, and instantly, Yang misses the weight of her.

“You think they’ll be serving dinner soon?” Weiss asks.

“I sure hope so. I’m starved.”

Grasping Weiss’s hand, Yang pulls them both to their feet, then holds out her good arm. “I’ll lead the way?”

Weiss links one arm with Yang’s and rests her free hand on her bicep—a little gesture that makes Yang’s stomach flip. “Just don’t get us lost,” Weiss says, and Yang replies with a giggle.

“Not to worry, Ice Queen,” she adds, winking. “I know the way.”

***

That night, Yang dreams of her mother, a shadow of black and crimson amidst a sea of golden sand. Eyes ablaze with twin red flames, she holds the Haven Relic with both hands, far from her body as if she’s waiting for someone to take it. As if she doesn’t want it at all.

Yang steps forward, and the sand burns her feet—she’s barefoot, her hunting clothes traded for a white nightgown. If it’s supposed to make her feel weaker, it doesn’t. She doesn’t have to dress like a Huntress to know she’s a better one than the woman before her will ever be.

Raven extends her arms, pushing the Relic further towards Yang. Saying, _This belongs to you, now._ So Yang reaches. Her fingers curl around the golden handle of the Relic, and violent fire splits through her bone, spearing the length of her arm. She screams.

The light fades from Raven’s eyes, and she and the Relic disappear in a shower of smoke-colored feathers.

Yang jolts awake with a gasp. Frantically, she runs her hand over her body—she’s covered in cold sweat. The room around her is blue, filled with moonlight leaking through windows. Weiss is asleep on the neighboring cot, and the sight of her alone, white hair down and swept behind her, is enough to ease Yang back into the real world.

She spends a moment just watching Weiss, matching her breaths to the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders. Blue—her favorite color—seems to soften everything about her, from the red cut of her mouth, set somewhere between a smile and a frown, to the jagged length of her scar. _Still beautiful,_ Yang decides, and finds her heartbeat quickening for a reason far different from a nightmare.

Yang was never expecting this. At least not this hard. Not this soon. But if there’s anything she should’ve learned from these past few months, it’s that this world doesn’t care about expectations.

Filled with a rush of courage only the cover of night could bring, Yang reaches across the divide between their cots to brush a stray hair from Weiss’s face and runs her thumb along the outline of her cheek and jaw.

Weiss shifts. Flushed from head to toe, Yang tears her hand away and rolls back to her cot, pulling the thin covers up to her nose. Still, she watches as Weiss slips an arm from beneath her sheet and holds it out, palm upturned, into the space between them. Yang holds her breath.

“Yang,” Weiss mumbles. Not a question, but a statement. Yang almost laughs about it, finding it endearingly whiny until she realizes what it is Weiss wants.

Shifting onto her back, Yang slowly stretches out her hand, pinching her eyes shut in anticipation until Weiss laces their fingers together. The distance between the cots is short enough to make it comfortable. Their linked hands angle gently to the floor, and Weiss tenses her fingers. A sleepy way of saying, _I’m not letting go._

If she can hear Yang’s sigh of relief, she says nothing.

Weiss falls back to sleep in minutes—Yang can tell by the way her hand relaxes in hers, soft but still holding on. But Yang, with her heart racing in the best way possible, knows it will be a long time before she joins her. 


End file.
